When you lose your baby in the fairy clocks

Our Sandhill Crane family

Sunday was a very sad day. The evening redeemed the day but oh it was a sad and anxious day.

We hadn't seen our Crane family for a couple of days. Mid-morning, David and I were just about to head to our various tasks when I heard their call. Excited to see them we watched the pair come into sight just below the house. Still calling. They came right up into the yard, agitated and calling. We didn't see the little one anywhere. The parents were searching for their chick. Frantic. They walked and looked and searched in the tall grass and in the rolling hills of dandelion clocks, and they called. The saddest calls we've ever heard from our cranes. The little one nowhere to be seen. Back and forth through the yard, obviously asking for our help!

We were both out in the yard with them, talking to them. Asking questions. And they were asking us too; have we seen him, do we know anything? They lifted off finally from below the kitchen and flew low, directly over us, looking us in the eyes. Imploring us to help. And so we did. We watched where they landed; on the road just below the corral where they often walked.

We decided the little white car that blends in to the landscape was the best way to join the search. We drove everywhere, so so slowly, so carefully looking and searching. We know their routine, mostly. We know where they walk and where the danger points are. We drove to the creek and searched alongside where the little one might be trapped in a beaver run. He’s only about a month old, he can’t fly yet. We heard them calling, crying out. We continued the search.

As we came back into the yard, they were there again, searching along the trail next to the house. We followed close behind. Then we parked and wandered into the house heartbroken. The search had gone on for hours and that little crane is so vulnerable; an easy meal for a fox or coyote or a bear or an eagle. I was still a tiny bit hopeful that maybe the rabbits (or a Snipe) had lured him away for an afternoon of mischief.

We were very unhappy. Neither of us had any desire to share the sad news on Facebook. We continued our search with binoculars and our cameras.

A few hours later, the adult pair appeared out front again. They were foraging, eating, beaks in the long grass, they weren’t calling. Had they given up?

Nope. There was the little one, safe and sound; sweet round head bobbing in and out of the fairy clocks. We will never know where they found him or what adventures he may have had, but I know our cheers could be heard all over these 48 acres! And all was right with the world again.

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